


Two Salvations

by smolonde



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, I Will Go Down With This Ship, but she makes up for it, kanaya is kind of obnoxious at firs, mostly - Freeform, otp, vriska is obnoxious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-20
Updated: 2015-05-20
Packaged: 2018-03-31 09:28:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3972838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smolonde/pseuds/smolonde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kanaya goes on a date with a girl she has met on Kik. However, with her designer's eye and a few memories, she realizes that something is amiss with this rich, upper-class girl.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Salvations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [t0talcha0s](https://archiveofourown.org/users/t0talcha0s/gifts).



You walk into the restaurant, seeing the chandelier shine above your head, glimmering a thousand different hues. People bustle around you, old ladies taking their granddaughters out to dinner, husbands and wives, no one else standing still with a blank expression on their face. That is you; you are absolutely terrified.

_Please, please don’t let this date be like the last one._

Your roommate Karkat said that maybe getting a date after your last breakup was a good idea, but you weren’t comfortable going out into the dating world. Hell, the last girl that you went on a date on insisted on ordering the rarest steak possible, licking all the blood off it, and talking for about an hour about the delicious “candy red” taste of her ex-boyfriend’s dick. Not to mention, as you later found out when telling Karkat about the horrifying experience, that she had broken up with him over two years ago. This led to some awkwardness and tension between the two of you; neither of you can say the words “candy” or “red” without being brought back to that mortifying moment.

               

You begin to make your way across the room to the table that you have reserved, sitting down and tapping your fingers on the fork and spoon laid at the edge of your plate. She’s late; of course she’s late. You’ve only talked to her on Kik, and every single time she responded about thirty minutes later with excuses such as “Sorry, Maryam, I’m trying to sneak into a concert ::::D”. You wouldn’t be surprised if, based on some of the selfies she’s sent you, she shows up drunk. She seems unruly, wild, and careless, and you don’t normally associate with those people. In fact, you never make dates with anyone on social media; you’ve been warned by your mother that people are not often what they seem. For some reason though, this girl reeled you in, and you’re not sure what to make of her.

 

You’re jarred from your thoughts by a loud bang from the doorway and a voice that you recognize despite never having heard.

“Yo, get out of my way, asshole! I've got a date, and I’m not going to be late for it because of your lame ass.”

Your heart sinks. _Oh no._

Vriska Serket strides into the room, shoving a few befuddled members out of the way, turning her head and starting to yell “Where the hell—“ and then she spots you. You’re probably red with embarrassment. And, oh god, her hair.

It’s tangled beyond belief; a leaf sticks out of a clump on one side, and the other looks like it has never seen a brush. Her piercings are prominent and make her stick out like a sore thumb in the room of party-goers and social climbers; she is starting to draw attention from every table. A socialite is standing a few feet away, pointing at her and whispering. “Oh my god, I didn't think this restaurant let hookers in.”

Vriska, who is nearing your table, veers at the woman with a furious expression. You sink into your chair, wishing for the ground to swallow you whole.

“What the fuck did you just say about me?”

The woman draws herself up to her full height. “Get a hairbrush; you look like a harlot.”

Vriska looks her up and down, and for one scared moment you think that she might be sizing her up for a fight. But then she flips her hair, turns around and walks away, tossing a last remark over her shoulder. “Get a breast reduction; you look like an airbag.”

The woman sputters in anger as Vriska Serket plops down at your table.

 

“Can you believe the nerve of some people?” You’re transfixed by the sound of her voice, coarse and rough, almost like a smoker’s. You really haven’t focused on anything but her face, and your eyes begin taking in the rest of her. She begins grabbing the bread basket and tearing into bread. She begins chattering with her mouth full.

“Sorry I’m late, work was crazy. Have I ever told you about my job? Well, I work at a law firm downtown, and it’s pretty well-paying. Me and my business partner are reeling in bucks left and right, not that we really need to work that hard, most of the profits come straight to us—“

You’re no longer listening, because you’ve noticed Vriska’s cerulean shirt. She’s surprisingly well-dressed in contrast to her messy hair and her unhealthily thin frame, almost skeletal. The shirt is flowy and long-sleeved, made out of tulle, a fabric that you use quite often, and built with love. The stitching is gorgeous, the fabric flows to fit her shape quite well, and you know that you’ve designed some shirts like this in your line of work. The craftsmanship is truly beautiful, and the cloth seems to have been bought at a high price.

This doesn’t seem to add up. How does a girl with filthy hair, no table manners, and a devil-may-care attitude own such fine clothing? She did say that her job pays well; maybe she just has disregard for her appearance and attitude?

 

“—and maybe next time we hang out we can go to my apartment. It’s the penthouse suite of a thirty-story building downtown, and I’ve furnished it with some of the best stuff money can buy—“

You’re looking at her skirt now. It’s an asymmetrical black skirt with pleats, also made out of tulle. It curves against her legs in an attractively aesthetic way. It looks like something that you would design and wear; it’s perfect for a figure like yours, but it still looks quite good on her.

“—and you’re probably pretty knowledgeable about hard work, the fashion industry being what it is now, so I think you can appreciate how hard I work on a day-to-day basis to make sure my loser employees don’t screw everything up. God, this one guy, he was such a bad worker, didn’t know how to be ruthless in business, needed constant reassurance, so I—“

 _Wait._ Your keen designer’s eye scopes out something on the side of Vriska’s skirt. It’s a large, white stain, almost like baby powder. You wonder where-

 

_Karkat bumps into you, your elbows on the kitchen counter as you knead the dough. Your elbow knocks against the bag of flour and sweeps it to the floor, a ball of dough hitting your black tulle skirt as you scrabble to get out of the way. A large splotch of flour clings to your skirt as the dough brushes it, and you turn to Karkat with a look of disbelief._

_“Karkat, must you constantly interfere with my cooking? I am trying to make sure we can both eat dinner.” You try to cover up your irritation at getting the skirt you just designed dirty. Well, you assume that it was your fault for wearing nice clothes in the kitchen anyways._

_“Fuck, Kan, just donate it to the Salvation Army or something, it’s not the end of the world if you have to get rid of some clothes. Jesus, you’re so fussy. You can donate all that other shit that you never wear, like that blue shirt that you made the other day."_

 

_The next morning, you drive to the SA headquarters with the box of clothes that you’ve prepared last night; your black skirt, which you ran through the wash but remained stained, your blue shirt, and some of Karkat’s old clothes. The woman at the front desk smiles gratefully and pats your back in thanks, waving as you leave. “I know just who to give these clothes to!”_

 

 

You snap out of your flashback, staring at Vriska Serket, who is still babbling obnoxiously across the table.

“There’s a little restaurant on the Upper East Side, and really, only the best of upper crust go there. Of course, I’ve been there hundreds of times, and there’s no place like it. I think I must have spent a few thousand there this past year alone—“

You interrupt her. “Vriska, I apologize for interrupting you, but I was curious; what did you say your law firm was called?”

Her eyes widen for a split second, then go back to normal. “Um…. It’s called Pyrope & Serket Attorneys.”

“Right, how silly of me. And…. What was the name of your apartment building?”

She’s beginning to panic visibly now, her eyebrows inching up. “It’s… uh. Um…

“And that restaurant. It sounds simply divine; where was that again?”

“Oh, it’s just- it’s on the corner of…”

“And one more question. Did you pick up the clothes that you’re wearing from the Salvation Army Headquarters in the Hell’s Kitchen borough or in Queens?”

Vriska’s face turns red and she sputters with shock. Then she sighs, all the fight seeming to leave her body, and she sticks her face into her napkin. “Queens.”

 

The two of you finish your dinner in silence, only speaking to settle who is paying. Obviously, it’s you. As you make your way out of the restaurant doors and onto the pavement, Vriska throws down her purse and spits off to the side.

 

“Look, I know that you didn’t know what you signed up for when you decided to go out with me, and I’m sorry that I’m a liar, and that I’m poor, and that I’m basically useless to you now, and I get it if you never want to see me again. I’m disgusting, I’m sorry. I spent my whole life trying to hide the fact that I’m a fucking loser, and I went and blew the first chance to start something with someone. ”

“Vriska, I—“

“Kanaya, I get it. I used to have so many irons in the fire, but I don’t anymore. I gambled everything away. I was really part of a law firm with my business partner, I did live in a high-end apartment, I used to eat at the finest restaurants. Now, I live in a Salvation Army bunk bed, I work as a janitor in a casino, and I eat chips and ramen for almost every meal. And you treated me well, but you found out that I lied to you.”

“Vriska, please—“

“I know it was unfair to keep an online relationship with you up without telling you anything about myself. I know that I was wrong, and I tried to make it up to you by telling you lies about who I was. I just can’t believe that you found out like that, and I know that you’re probably done with me. But can I just have seven dollars for the bus home?”

 

Her eyes are welling up with tears, and you brush them aside with soft hands. “Vriska, you will not be taking the bus. You’re coming home with me.”

Vriska’s eyes widen for a moment, and at first she looks almost hopeful. She tries to hide it with a smirk. “On the first date?”

“Vriska, please. You’re going to sleep on my couch, and you’re going eat breakfast with me, if nothing else. My roommate might get a little bit grouchy, but I’ll talk to him. I don’t want you out of my sight for the next night, at least. My apartment’s pretty spacious, and I know we can find a way to make this work. I genuinely do care for you; I know that, if nothing else. If you’d like, we could possibly have a fresh start. We could just become friends, if nothing else. I don’t care that you lied. You’re the kind of person that I’m drawn to; I’m not sure why yet, but I know that I’m going to make sure you’re safe and happy.”

Vriska’s face becomes pale, then her face splits into a soft smile. “I… I’d like that, Kanaya."

 

And so you offer her your hand, not even in a romantic gesture, but in the kind of camaraderie that suggests _I’m there for you._ And Vriska, not even bothering to conceal the tears spilling from her eyes, takes it, looking at you like you’re a goddess. And you feel, in that moment, as if you are. You walk down the street, buzzing with cars and light, and at the curb, she stops you.

“Kanaya.”

“Vriska?”

 

And her response, a wonderful, wordless response, makes you just a little lightheaded. Her lips are warm, and she likely hasn’t bothered to brush her teeth today, but you don’t care. She leans up, wrapping her hand around the back of your neck, and pulls you in deeper. The kiss barely lasts ten seconds, but it’s sweet, tender, and surprisingly hopeful. And as she breaks it, the two of you look into each other’s eyes.

“Vriska?”

“Yeah.”

“I think I like you.”

And the two of you, walking beneath the streetlights, the lull of the cars pulling the two of you along the crosswalk. And somehow, the loud shout of “Hey, watch where you’re going, asswagon!” from an angry driver, and Vriska flipping him off as he drives away, is a declaration of your newfound hope.  

**Author's Note:**

> I got this AU from awful-aus.tumblr.com, and it was a LOT of fun to write, especially with my OTP.  
> Follow me at eightlegs-sevenvagurbas if you're into that :)


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